Fury of Ice (47 page)

“If it means staying with you? I’m in…all the way in.”

“Forever sound good?”

“Hmm, yeah.” Her fingers drifting through his hair, she pulled his head down for another kiss. “Really, really good.”

“Fantastic.” He grinned against her mouth, nipping her gently, taking easy sips before he raised his head. When she protested, he said, “One more question, though.”

“Uh-hmm?”

“Where the hell is—”

“Motherfuck!” The curse came from just below the cliff edge. A huge blue-gray talon followed. Claws spread, the sharp points bit into the ground. The scraping sound cracked the quiet as the paw slid, ripping grooves into granite.

“—Mac.”

Angela snorted. “Guess that answers that.”

Mac cursed again. A second later his horned head popped up over the lip of the cliff. His aquamarine eyes aglow, he locked onto Angela.

“I’m all right. Just a few scratches,” she said, reassuring her partner.

Relief relaxed the fierceness of his expression. A moment later he shifted focus, throwing a load of pissed off in Rikar’s direction. “Good of you to show up, Ice Cube.”

Rikar clenched his teeth to keep from laughing. Only B called him that—an affectionate nickname his commander liked to throw out every once in a while.

He raised a brow. “The rogue?”

“Dead.” Razor-sharp claw still digging into rock, Mac hauled his bulk over the ledge, bladed spine glistening with saltwater as he growled, “Can we go home now?”

“Yes, please,” Angela murmured, pressing her cheek to his chest. “Home.”

Home
. That had a nice ring to it. Even better for the fact he wouldn’t be headed there alone. He had Angela now, and no matter the battles ahead, she was the only home he would ever need.

Excerpt from
Fury of Seduction

Chapter One

Sleep always eluded him. Night. Day. It didn’t matter. A solid eight hours of shut-eye never made it onto Mac’s schedule. He’d tried everything: swapping his firm mattress for a softer one, kitting the thing out with silk sheets, and the best pillows money could buy. Stretching out in his La-Z-Boy recliner. Hardcore sex before bedtime. Nothing helped. No matter what he did, the most he ever got was three hours in a row.

Which explained a lot, actually.

Like why he stood by himself in the gymnasium he shared with the other Nightfury dragon warriors instead of tucked in his bed getting the recommended number of Zs. Seven stories below ground, Black Diamond boasted the best of everything: state-of-the-art workout equipment, a basketball court, and a room full of tools used to sharpen dragon claws. The fact he was alone in the underground lair said it all. None of his brothers in arms suffered from insomnia. All were no doubt deep in la-la land, laid out under feather down, getting hot and heavy with an imaginary dream girl. Which…

Uh-huh, you guessed it. Made Mac the sole patient in the sleep deprivation department Chez Nightfury.

Damned annoying. And even more of a problem today.

Combating a boatload of pissed off, Mac rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. He couldn’t afford to screw up. Or let his new family down. The other warriors were counting on him. Trusting that he’d learn to master the magic he commanded as a Dragonkind male to become a solid member of the Nightfury pack. Did it matter that he’d only just learned he was half-dragon? That the magic encoded in his DNA had jump-started the
change
—allowing him to shift from human to dragon form and back again—less than a week ago?

Not even a little.

Time didn’t wait for anyone or give a shit about ability. And neither did Mac.

To fight alongside his brothers, he must prove he belonged with them. Which meant he needed to pull it together…right now.

Too bad the plan was goat-fucked six ways to Sunday.

His dragon half was AWOL, getting in his face, fucking up his flow, denying his will to control it. Cajoling didn’t work. Neither did babying the bastard. And threatening it? Shit, he’d gotten zapped with nasty-ass energy shards each time he tried that approach. So what did that leave him?

Begging.

Mac blew out a long breath. Just the thought gave him a raging case of no-can-do—the obstinate SOB belonged to him, after all, not the other way around—but desperate times called for desperate measures. If he continued to screw the pooch he wouldn’t get what he wanted. Hell…make that what he
craved
. He needed the Nightfury warriors’ acceptance. Without it, he wouldn’t get his warrior status rubber-stamped in the war against the Razorbacks, a rogue faction of Dragonkind whose endgame included the extermination of the human race.

He glared at the weight machine nearest him. Steel rattled, picking up the vibe he threw off, and shifted against the rivets that kept it bolted to the floor. As the calamity got going, clanking out a rhythm, industrial grade fluorescents flared above his head, crackling through the quiet. A second before the light bulbs exploded, Mac shut the energy overload down, more disgusted with himself than ever.

KOing gym equipment wouldn’t get him anything but more attention. The kind he didn’t need from the crew still asleep upstairs. He snorted. Now there was an understatement. Bastian, his new commander, would deep-fry his ass if he wrecked anything else this week. Especially since he was still on the hook for putting his fist through a wall.

Raising his arms, Mac cupped the back of his head and pressed down, pushing his chin toward his chest. Taut muscles pulled and pain screamed up his spine. As agony slammed into the back of his skull, he frowned at the real estate between his bare feet. The Velcro of the exercise mats lined up, connecting the whole, not even a millimeter off as each clung to its counterpart. Any other day he would’ve appreciated the precision. Enjoyed the tidy corners and neat edges. Today the sight just made him sick.

So together. So on the same page. So perfect in every way.

Unlike him. He was a total frickin’ catastrophe. The only guy in Black Diamond who didn’t have his shit together.

Mac’s headache morphed into a full-blown throb, pounding between his temples. The whole thing was a total mind-fuck. The failure. Each defeat. The fact his magic defied him. And as uncertainty came calling, he shook his head. It shouldn’t be this difficult. He’d always excelled at everything—school, sports, the military, and martial arts. Nothing had ever pushed him to the edge of what he could endure…until now.

Why was he having so much trouble? Was it the water angle? Most dragons hated water and spent their lives avoiding it. Not Mac. True to his water dragon roots, he preferred to be in the ocean. The deeper the better, but any body of water would do. Give him a lake, river, or Olympic-sized swimming pool and he was good to go. The difference between him and the other Nightfuries, though, didn’t explain why his magic refused to obey him.

He frowned, turning the questions over in his mind, searching for answers. None came. No clever explanation. No aha moment. Just another big doughnut hole in an information string full of them.

Inhaling deeply, Mac filled his lungs to capacity, getting back in the game. Surrender wasn’t a word he ever used, and as he held the breath, relishing the burn, he prayed the last time was the charm. He needed to connect with his dragon side like he needed legs to stand on. Letting the air go, he drew another lungful and released it.

Draw. Hold. Release.

Mac repeated the sequence over and over, using the breathing technique he’d learned in the navy. After a while, his heartbeat slowed. His body calmed. As the chaos in his mind receded, a sinking sensation grabbed hold and pulled him deep. A snick echoed as something unlocked inside him, releasing a flood of energy. The Meridian. Good Christ. He’d found it, tapped into the electrostatic current that fed Dragonkind.

“Come on, beautiful,” he whispered, nursing the fragile connection. “Stay with me.”

His words swirled through the quiet, reminding him he was alone. Thank God. He didn’t want anyone witnessing the train wreck if he failed again. Call it pride. Call it ego. Call it a severe allergy to ridicule. Whatever. It didn’t matter, just as long as he caught hold of the magic and mastered the cloaking spell. The ability wasn’t optional. If he couldn’t cloak himself—go dark and invisible against the night sky—he couldn’t fight alongside his brothers. And if he couldn’t contribute as a warrior, he wasn’t worth the space he occupied.

About the Author

Image © Julie Daniluk

As the only girl on all-guys hockey teams from age six through her college years, Coreene Callahan knows a thing or two about tough guys and loves to write about them. Call it kismet. Call it payback after years of locker room talk and ice rink antics. But whatever you call it, the action better be heart stopping, the magic electric, and the story wicked good fun.

After graduating with honors in psychology and working as an interior designer, Callahan finally succumbed to her overactive imagination and returned to her first love: writing. And when she’s not writing, she is dreaming of magical worlds full of dragon-shifters, elite assassins, and romance that’s too hot to handle. Callahan currently lives in Canada with her family and her writing buddy, a fun-loving golden retriever. She is the author of
Fury of Fire
and the upcoming novel in the Dragonfury series,
Fury of Seduction
.